


Star chart

by Veto_power_over_clocks



Series: Decepticon Hot Rod AU [3]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Decepticon Hot Rod AU, M/M, Picnics, Pining, Stargazing, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-30
Updated: 2019-06-30
Packaged: 2020-05-30 20:10:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19410514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Veto_power_over_clocks/pseuds/Veto_power_over_clocks
Summary: A picnic under the stars.





	Star chart

**Author's Note:**

> To new readers: welcome to the AU in which Hot Rod is a Decepticon! If you don't feel like reading what happened earlier, you just need to know that Deadlock is pining and that he and Hot Rod have an alliance of mutual protection that's disguised as an agreement in which Deadlock protects Hot Rod, and it's represented by a mark on Hot Rod's neck.
> 
> To old readers: welcome back! I wrote this in _February_ , but there were other things I wanted to post first, and then I had to edit it. Thanks for sticking with me and this AU. Enjoy!
> 
> Squire and Mars remain wonderful, beautiful and amazing people that have been supporting me through the entire creative process.

As an important member of the Decepticons, Deadlock has some small privileges. Nothing big, since part of their cause is ensuring that no one has an unfair advantage over the others, but things like sometimes receiving orders directly from Megatron, and getting the fastest shuttle.

The fastest shuttle isn’t a big improvement on the regular ones, but it makes Deadlock feel better if he manages to save a few minutes of travel. Once upon a time, he liked to return quickly to be ready and waiting for the next order. Now…

The door opens far too slowly. The first glimpse he gets of the shuttle bay as he waits is the familiar grey floor and a pair of red feet, one of which is tapping at a fast rhythm.

Deadlock’s finials perk up. He has to consciously bring them down to hide his happiness, but he allows himself a small smile before his face becomes visible. 

“Welcome back,” Hot Rod says, beaming up at him. “How was Noyere?”

“Full of people and monuments.” Deadlock walks down the ramp, his expression carefully nonchalant even though he’d been thinking about Hot Rod for the three months he’d been away, and missing him like he was sunlight.

He hurries as subtly as possible to stand in front of Hot Rod, eager to see his face.

“Is there anything left now?” Hot Rod asks, smirking.

“You know who you’re talking to, right?” Deadlock says, mock offended.

“I could never forget,” Hot Rod says solemnly, putting a hand over his spark and managing to stay serious for about one second before bursting into laughter. “Did you bring me a souvenir at least?”

Deadlock laughs, although not as loudly as Hot Rod, and takes a spearhead out of his subspace.

“Got it from a museum,” he explains as Hot Rod examines the object, relief spreading through him at Hot Rod’s obvious approval of the gift. “Did anything happen while I was gone?”

“Not much, but who knows? I’ve been away for three weeks, I just got back.” Deadlock gestures for him to explain further. “Some Autobot prototype they wanted stolen or destroyed.”

His smile as he talks sets off several alarms in Deadlock’s processor.

“What did you do?” he asks flatly.

“My job.” His falsely innocent tone is the worst. Hot Rod really needs to become a better liar.

“Hot Rod…”

“I _might_ have run inside the lab with a bunch of explosives and set them off in a very specific order at very specific places to make the whole place collapse while I tried to steal the prototype.”

Deadlock doesn’t want to clarify if he’d set up the explosives during the attempted theft or if Hot Rod had made the place collapse while he was still inside.

“ _Tried_?”

Hot Rod shrugs and smiles apologetically.

“Some scientist got heroic. He’s dead now, and the prototype is lost.”

“What did it do?”

“No idea. Something about explosions?” Hot Rod makes a vague gesture and twists his mouth. “High command isn’t happy, but at least they can’t use it against us, so it’s not bad.”

There’s something in the way Hot Rod says those words that Deadlock doesn’t like.

“Did they say something to you?” he asks, his tone vaguely menacing.

“Just the usual, ‘You should have done a better job’. They were really hoping I’d get it back.”

“If that’s what they wanted, they should have made it clear.” He doesn’t change his tone.

“I said that, but apparently any mech with common sense would have realized that it was important to steal the prototype.”

His tone is nonchalant and he’s relaxed as he talks, but he seems… dim.

Deadlock doesn’t like it.

“Hey, what’s with that look?” Hot Rod says, gesturing at Deadlock’s expression, his hand right in front of Deadlock’s face. “I’m the one that got told off.”

“It was unfair,” he says before he can think better of it, and quickly looks around to check if anyone was listening. He doesn’t want to sound like he’s questioning high command.

At least it makes the corners of Hot Rod’s mouth turn up.

“It’s nice of you to worry, but they were right.” Hot Rod pats Deadlock’s shoulder in a placating manner. “Anyway, it’s good to have you back.”

The smile he gives Deadlock seems sincere. Out of curiosity, Deadlock tentatively reaches for Hot Rod’s field with his own, startling him.

“Sorry,” he says, quickly drawing back.

“It’s okay,” Hot Rod says, shaking his head and raising his hand to the mark on his neck, drawing Deadlock’s eyes to it. “I’d just forgotten what your field was like.”

Deadlock wishes he could touch the mark as well. He wishes he could kiss it. He wishes he didn’t have to spend every second around Hot Rod ensuring that nothing he does reveals how much he needs to hold his hand.

His field reaches for Hot Rod’s again, and this time Hot Rod reaches back, his field warmer than the average and flickering like a flame, full of relief and contentedness, tangling with Deadlock’s and welcoming him back just as clearly as his words and smile had done a few minutes earlier. Deadlock would let that field surround him if he was allowed to ask for it.

They talk for a while, finding their way to the common area as they discuss their latest assignments, and then Hot Rod is taking a step back and talking about having to file a report about his mission.

“What?” Deadlock asks, not hiding his confusion. Hot Rod filing his reports immediately? Odd.

“Yeah. Boring, but necessary.” Hot Rod makes a vague movement with his head. “High command likes paperwork.”

“I know that.” He frowns and gives Hot Rod a questioning look. “And I also know that you hate it.”

Hot Rod smiles sheepishly and says, “I have to keep them happy.”

Deadlock’s frown deepens.

“When has that stopped you from leaving it for the last minute?”

“Hey! I _can_ be responsible!” Hot Rod says, mock offended.

“Yes, but usually not about paperwork,” Deadlock says, still sounding puzzled.

Hot Rod grimaces.

“Look,” Hot Rod says, waving a hand dismissively and taking a step back, “I have to be responsible about this, so…” He sighs and, more quietly, adds, “See you later.”

Hot Rod turns around and Deadlock thinks of Hot Rod’s words from a few seconds earlier. Had he really been _pretending_ to be offended?

Deadlock wants to kick himself.

“I didn’t mean that you couldn’t be responsible,” he says before Hot Rod can leave.

Hot Rod’s shoulders fall slightly and he turns his head to look at Deadlock, smiling like nothing happened.

“Deadlock, I’m not mad. You’re right.” He shrugs. “You’re right and I should change some things.” Giving him a lopsided smile, he says, “See you later,” and leaves Deadlock feeling like an idiot.

.

.

.

.

::Deadlock, wake up.::

His eyes snap open and he’s sitting up before he has fully finished processing the message. Someone’s hailing his private frequency.

No. Not ‘someone’.

::Hot Rod?::

::Great, you’re awake! Open the door, we have two minutes before they notice us.::

He does as instructed and finds Hot Rod waiting, a finger in front of his playful smile.

Hot Rod gestures for Deadlock to follow him and Deadlock, of course, does. How could he refuse him? Why would he refuse him?

They go through the base following a complicated path that has them occasionally retracing their steps, and sometimes Hot Rod’s pressing his hand to Deadlock’s chest, pushing him to flatten himself against the wall. It’s the exact path someone would need to follow to leave unnoticed.

::Hot Rod?::

Hot Rod turns quickly and shakes his head, bringing his finger to his lips again.

Once outside, Deadlock opens his mouth, but once more Hot Rod gestures for him to remain silent. It’d be really useful if Hot Rod spoke chirolanguage. Maybe Deadlock should teach him.

They walk under the stars with only the night’s sounds for company.

Deadlock will never say it out loud, but he likes where the base is located. Pache is a small planet, full of vegetation and hills and no intelligent organic life, only small creatures that are happy to spend their days going from flower to flower. Some of the creatures have feathers, others have scales, and all of them stay away from Cybertronians. He hopes they don’t have to destroy everything here as well; he’d miss the orchestra that these creatures form every night. Sometimes, when he can’t sleep, he strains to hear the music he knows is playing outside, the sound of life reminding him that he is alive as well, that he got out of the Dead End.

About a kilometer away from the base, Hot Rod changes into his alt-mode.

“Come on,” he whispers. “It’ll be worth it.”

Deadlock follows him, his engine roaring as they race through the valleys of Pache, enjoying the night air against his plating, the scared creatures flying away as they come closer, the occasional brush of Hot Rod’s field, full of joy and excitement.

Hot Rod slows down as they approach a plateau, turning back to root mode as he reaches its base.

“Wait here,” Hot Rod says, starting to climb. “I’ll comm you when you can come up.”

It’s a short wait and a short climb to the top, where Deadlock finds an assortment of energon goodies surrounding a very pleased Hot Rod.

“Ta-dah!” he says, extending his arms and sitting on the ground.

“What’s this?” Deadlock hasn’t seen this many treats since… well, never. Soldiers can’t waste resources on candy.

“A picnic,” Hot Rod says matter-of-factly, patting the spot next to him.

“I got that,” he says sharply. “What I mean is where did you get this?”

Hot Rod sighs and crosses his legs, resting his elbows on his knees.

“Different places. It’s taken me ages, so I’m not sure about all of this, but…” He draws his lower lip between his teeth as he looks around. “I stole the blue goodies from the Autobot lab I was just in. The red ones I traded to Doctor for some spare parts. And the rust sticks are from Ater.”

At the mention of Ater, Deadlock’s spark flares.

“You’ve been collecting candy since then?” he asks, sitting down next to Hot Rod and reaching for what’s nearer: the rust sticks.

“Nah, since earlier than that. Can’t remember when I started.” Hot Rod’s not looking at him, busy piling treats in the space formed between his legs.

“And you’re sharing your stash with me?”

“Of course.” Hot Rod looks up in confusion. “Who else am I supposed to share it with?”

“You could have kept it to yourself,” Deadlock says neutrally.

Hot Rod seems scandalized by the idea.

“Deadlock, we’re friends. And I bet this is just as much of a feast to you as it is to me.” He pops a purple energon goodie into his mouth.

“Still…”

“Shut up. You deserve this. You’ve earned it. You’ve been a good Decepticon, a great ally and an excellent friend. Now have some candy or I’ll eat it all,” he finishes, taking the hand in which Deadlock is still holding the rust stick and guiding it to his own mouth, taking a bite out of the stick.

“Hey!”

“What did I tell you?” he says as he chews. At the same time, he’s grabbing three more rust sticks, which he promptly puts in Deadlock’s other hand. “Enjoy.”

Deadlock puts one end of the remaining half of the rust stick between his lips and sucks on it slowly, enjoying the taste spreading through his mouth.

Hot Rod grabs another goodie, a pink one, and turns to Deadlock again.

“Any favorites?”

It occurs to Deadlock that he can _choose_ which ones to eat, and suddenly this feast is intimidating instead of fun.

“I don’t really care,” he says, putting what remains of the stick in his mouth and chewing quickly.

“Hmmm, yeah, I don’t buy that. Everybody has a favorite.” Hot Rod raises his treat. “Pink?” He points to the others around him in turn. “Purple? Blue? Red? Rust sticks?”

“I really don’t mind.”

Hot Rod looks unimpressed.

“Okay, then you can have everything,” he says, grabbing the pile between his legs and dropping it on Deadlock’s lap.

“What? No!” Deadlock tries to give the treats back to Hot Rod, but Hot Rod has turned his back on him and is busy piling up all the carefully separated treats. “These are yours!

“If you like everything, you can have everything. I can get more later.”

“The blue ones,” Deadlock says, half-despairing, putting a hand on Hot Rod’s shoulder. “It’s the blue ones.”

Hot Rod turns to him with narrowed eyes.

“Are you sure?”

“Completely.”

For a moment, Hot Rod studies him. Then he breaks into a grin.

“Cool, you can have them all.”

“Hot Rod...”

“Hey, no problem. I like the pink ones better.” He waves a hand dismissively. “You take the blue ones, I’ll take the pink ones, and we can trade, yes?”

It takes Deadlock a moment to answer, lost as he is in Hot Rod’s warm expression.

“Yes.”

They only separate the pink and blue treats, leaving everything else in a pile from which they grab random treats as they talk. Deadlock is careful not to look at the assorted candy; he knows that as soon as he sees how much is left he’ll start worrying about rationing, and that if he sees the many colors he’ll worry about how he shouldn’t be daring to decide what to eat.

“Oh, wow,” Hot Rod says, looking up, exposing the column of his neck. Killing him would be so easy, all Deadlock needs to do is to reach quickly with his claws, rip open his neck and let the energon spill out. It’s scary, how much Hot Rod trusts him.

He thinks about how that trust might allow him to get close enough to be in Hot Rod’s space, close enough to nuzzle his neck and hide his face in his shoulder. What would happen then? Would Hot Rod fight him off or, worse, allow him to trail kisses up his neck cables? The end result would be the same: Hot Rod not trusting him anymore and Deadlock hating himself.

 _He doesn’t want you_ , he reminds himself, and looks up as well.

The stars are beautiful.

He leans back on his elbows to get comfortable and starts looking for familiar constellations.

“What are you thinking about?” Hot Rod asks, extending his legs and copying Deadlock’s position.

“I’ve been there,” Deadlock says, pointing at one of the stars.

“Really? When?”

He starts talking, pointing at the different places he has been to. Constellations that look similar to others he saw on other planets. Stars around which he knows there are planets he has visited. He decides to only name spots in which he didn’t kill anyone, wanting to keep this moment immaculate (a death for the Decepticon cause, no matter how necessary, is still a death). He runs out of stories very quickly.

Deadlock closes his mouth and keeps looking at the stars, hoping Hot Rod will think he’d simply gotten tired of talking. He’d like to see Hot Rod’s face now, see if the stars are one of the many things that make him smile, see what his face looks like when only lit by infinity. But Hot Rod might catch him watching him, so he keeps his optics on the sky.

“Have you ever been to Nortsym?” Hot Rod asks.

Deadlock looks down to find him watching him pensively, one of his hands on the mark by his neck. Deadlock tries not to focus on that.

“No,” Deadlock manages to say.

“You’d like it, I think,” Hot Rod says, looking up. “I hope so, really.” He smiles and leans back to lie on the ground; raises an arm and points somewhere behind him. “It’s somewhere around there,” he says, moving his wrist in circles to better indicate the area he’s referring to.

Deadlock wants to look at Hot Rod, to save in his mind every detail of what his frame looks like under the stars, drink in the sight of him lying down and smiling up, relaxed and content. Instead, he lies down next to him and tries to see where Hot Rod’s pointing at.

“You’ve seen oceans, right?” Hot Rod says.

“Of course,” Deadlock scoffs.

“I’m getting to something here, don’t get mad,” Hot Rod says lightly, like he knows Deadlock wasn’t actually mad. Perhaps he knew, perhaps he knows that Deadlock hadn’t meant anything with his tone.

Deadlock turns his head to look at Hot Rod’s profile. He looks solemn now, lost in thought. His hand is still moving, but he’s no longer pointing at anything; he’s just moving his finger and wrist from side to side.

“Everybody knows what oceans are like. Big holes in the ground filled with water or some liquid, yes?” He turns his head slightly to look at Deadlock expectantly.

“Yes.”

“I thought so too.” A small smile, like he’s sharing a secret. “Not on Nortsym. It’s the other way around there. Kind of.” He looks up again. Deadlock keeps watching him. “There’s the land, where people live. And the oceans are blocks of liquid.”

“What?” Deadlock can’t keep the incredulity out of his voice.

Hot Rod nods, his smile widening. “It’s not really liquid, it’s like a gelatin? But it– it flows anyway. There are creatures inside it. It surrounds the land and goes up towards the sky. When you went to the shore, sometimes you saw these huge creatures swim past. They were bigger than us, Deadlock. I kept thinking that one of them would come out and swallow me whole. Or that if one of them fell out of the sea, it could crush me.” He laughs and turns to Deadlock again.

His smile is wide and his optics are shining. Deadlock wants nothing more than to move closer, pull Hot Rod on top of him and find out what he’d look like framed by the stars after being properly kissed, the sort of kissing that puts bliss on a mech’s smile and hope in his eyes.

Instead, Deadlock frowns and asks, “Are you trying to fool me, Hot Rod?”

Hot Rod’s expression falls and his optics dim.

Idiot.

“Never, Deadlock.” He frowns and moves a hand to his left side, where his interface panel is located. “I could show you, if you don’t believe me.”

Deadlock’s spark spins faster at the offer. Then he remembers _why_ the offer’s being made.

“I don’t– I didn’t mean to doubt you,” Deadlock says. Why must it be so difficult to apologize? “You don’t have anything to prove.” _I’m sorry, I was trying to tease you. I’m sorry, I was trying not to think about how badly I want you to want me. I’m sorry, I think I’m in love with you._ “I believe you.”

Hot Rod’s smile returns. He moves his hand from his side to his neck to brush the mark before letting it rest on his abdomen.

“The offer stands.” Hot Rod looks up again. “It was an interesting planet. I really think you might like to see it.”

They fall silent after that. Hot Rod watches the stars and Deadlock alternates between the stars and Hot Rod’s profile.

He considers the offer.

There’s nothing special about sharing memories. Friends do it. Allies do it. Drift used to do it. Deadlock has done it, in circumstances in which the information had to be transmitted with the highest degree of accuracy.

He’s yet to share a memory just because.

There’s a selfish part of his processor telling him this is the closest he’ll ever get to interfacing with Hot Rod. There’s a bigger part of it telling him that this is unnecessary, that he can’t take this. Then there’s his spark, telling him this is important because of how unnecessary it is. Here is Hot Rod again, putting himself in Deadlock’s hands without thinking about what it means.

He wants to see the world through Hot Rod’s eyes.

“Show me,” he says, a tad too eager.

Hot Rod quickly turns to look at him, eyes wide and mouth slightly open. After a second, he beams. His hands quickly remove the cover of his panel, and Deadlock wonders if he’d do that just as eagerly if they were about to share more than memories.

He watches Hot Rod’s fingers search for the correct cable and pulling it out, tugging on it sharply once it has reached a sufficient length to stop it from being pulled back into the storage area. Then he hands it to Deadlock.

Deadlock’s proud of how steady his hands are as he takes the cable and connects it to his data port.

He lowers the firewalls.

:: _Hi,_ :: Hot Rod says in his mind.

“Hi,” Deadlock replies aloud. He can’t send information back through Hot Rod’s cable.

:: _I’ll start sharing now._ ::

Deadlock closes his eyes to better enjoy the memory and finds himself smaller than he’s used to being, looking up at walls of liquid. He tentatively dips his fingers into the substance and finds it’s thicker than expected, getting into his joints and seams. He quickly pulls out his hand and shakes it, trying to get rid of the gelatin.

:: _Not my best idea_ ,:: Hot Rod laughs.

“I’ll keep the secret,” Deadlock says, amused.

He watches _something_ swim past, ten times Hot Rod’s size, shaped like a cone and full of tendrils.

:: _Some of those_ did _fall out every now and then. They swam too fast and couldn’t stop in time. It’s why no one in that planet lived by the ocean._ ::

They go through several similar memories. The ocean. The various creatures. The stars, framed by the ‘water’. And in every memory, Hot Rod’s awe at what he was seeing.

The memories end and Deadlock opens his eyes to find Pache’s night sky and Hot Rod looking down at him, looking slightly nervous.

“What did you think?”

Deadlock doesn’t have the words for it. Nortsym had been beautiful. Hot Rod’s amazement had felt precious.

He simply nods.

“That pretty?” Hot Rod smiles sheepishly.

Deadlock shakes his head and snorts, aware that he’s at risk of staring.

“Thank you, Hot Rod,” he says, disconnecting the cable and replacing the cover to his panel.

Hot Rod gives the cable a sharp tug and holds it taut as he slowly lets it get pulled back into the storage area. Deadlock watches him, memorizing the way he does it, the way his hands move.

“Hot Rod?” he says when Hot Rod has finished putting everything in place.

“Hmmm?” Hot Rod looks at him questioningly.

“Do you speak hand?”

Hot Rod shakes his head and lies back again.

“No one spoke it in our streets.”

“Do you want to learn?”

Hot Rod’s eyes glint with excitement. “You’d teach me?”

“Sure.”

“Great!” Hot Rod sits up and extends his hands towards Deadlock. “Okay, teach me.”

If he was a decent mech, he’d sit down and hold both of Hot Rod’s hands, looking at his face as he carefully explained each area of the hand, and how to stimulate it.

Instead, he pats the spot where Hot Rod had been lying.

“Get back here. I don’t want to move.”

“But-”

“I’ll teach you. Just give me one hand.”

Hot Rod settles next to him again and takes Deadlock’s hand in his own.

Deadlock allows himself one second to lie to himself. One second to imagine that Hot Rod is holding his hand just because he wants to. One second to believe that Hot Rod cares about him in the same way he cares about Hot Rod.

“First, areas of the hand,” he says, letting go and pressing his fingers to the area of the palm closest to the wrist.

If there’s one thing he doesn’t have to lie to himself about, it’s the fact that Hot Rod enjoys spending time with him.

He gives the whole lesson while looking at the stars, allowing himself to enjoy Hot Rod’s presence next to him and telling himself how lucky he is to share moments of his life with Hot Rod. That, at least, isn’t a lie.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Kudos are always appreciated and comments are loved and cherished because they make me happy. If you liked this fic and feel like promoting it, would you reblog [this post](https://veto-power-over-fanworks.tumblr.com/post/185941619460/star-chart)? Thank you!


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